Nothing But Trouble
by SetszukiLeroux
Summary: Trouble Kelp's name isn't a joke. This is a story centering around fourteen year old Trouble.


_**Author's Note: **As fairies can only have one child every twenty years, I have come to the conclusion that twenty fairy years must be equal to about four human years. That would make trouble, being twenty when Grub was born (at least in this story) be equal to the age of about five, and Holly, in the books, equal to about twenty years old (which is probably a little young, but oh well). It seems to add up alright to me anyway, but let me know if you find any major flaws with this theory (though I can't guarantee anything will be changed, depending on how far into the story I am)._

_One last thing -- this is just the first chapter of a story that I started a long time ago and never finished (though there are a few more chapters completed), and now I'm involved in writing another story that is taking up most of my time. I guess what I'm trying to say is don't count on this story being updated past about chapter three. Just tell me what you think, please. This is my first Artemis Fowl fanfiction, so I'm a little nervous. Obviously, not everything is completely accurate, and (as in the beginning of this story) they would never hold a Promotion Ceremony on the surface, but bear with me. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!_

Bethany Kelp sat silently in the audience of the LEP's Annual Promotion Ceremony, which was being held above ground, something extremely unusual for the Underground Police Force. Most years, the ceremony was canceled, because there was no one to promote. However, this year there were five officers due for promotion, and the LEP needed some way to make this particular ceremony stand out. Of course, the area was constantly being screened for humans, and there were a good number of shuttles lined up for escape, if need be. LEP officers were everywhere -- even those who weren't being promoted.

Bethany waited with her three children for her husband's name to be called.

"Captain Owen Kelp," the announcer, none other than Major Arlington, said. Major Arlington was a war veteran who had been promoted to major out of pity, so that he wouldn't have to go into battle anymore. He wasn't particularly talented with weapons (though he had a good mind for strategic attacks), and he was already missing his left arm up to his elbow, two fingers on his right hand, three toes on his left foot, four on his right, and a good chunk of his nose and earlobe. Owen Kelp, however, had managed to get through his captain hood with no major injuries or loss of limbs.

Owen had earned his promotion, fair and square, unlike Arlington. He had eliminated hundreds of threats against Haven in the 20 (5) years he had been at his position. He had saved thousands of lives, and risked his own every time. He deserved this promotion, and so did the rest of his family for all the worry they had been through.

"Congratulations, _Major_ Kelp." There was much applause, especially from Bethany, who stood up, setting her youngest child, Grub, on the ground next to her.

Grub was 36 (9) years old -- too young to fully understand or care about what was going on. He wrapped his small arms around Bethany's leg, rested his head on her thigh, and closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but the commotion around him was too loud for him to do so. Grub sniffled a little and tugged on Bethany's pant leg, confused as to why she wasn't paying attention to his crisis.

"Not now, Grub," Bethany muttered, still clapping. Owen walked off the raised platform where Arlington still stood, using a staircase on the left side, and bearing the new, golden Major's Acorn on his chest.

Arlington called out the next name on his short list (which happened to be Julius Root), and Bethany sat down, pulling a tissue out of her purse and handing it to Grub.

"Here, honey, wipe your nose," she said to her sniffling child. "Your daddy just got promoted to Major! Isn't that exciting?"

Grub shook his head no and collapsed into his mother's lap, hugging her around the waist. Bethany sighed and looked over to her daughter, Calandra, who was freshly 116 (29) years old. Calandra shrugged, reaching over and disentangling Grub from her mother's front. He didn't put up a struggle -- just immediately went to sleep in Calandra's lap instead.

The ceremony ended shortly. "Mommy, can we leave now?" Grub asked, in a sleepy voice.

"You want to leave?" Trouble, Bethany's 56 (14) year old son asked incredulously. Trouble was only a nickname, Taran being his real name, but Trouble was much more fitting. "This is the first time you've ever been aboveground, and you want to _leave_?"

Grub nodded from Calandra's arms. "Uh-huh." Trouble shook his head in apparent disgust. "Its too cold," Grub explained, trying to make Trouble understand. Grub was constantly trying to be like Trouble in every way. Bethany had even once caught him attempting to pour chocolate syrup into his eyes to make them brown instead of blue.

"You're wearing a coat three times too big for you, Grub," said Trouble, pointing to his brother's unusual apparel.

"I'm still cold," mumbled Grub, looking down at his hands.

"Here, take mine -- I'm too hot anyway," offered Trouble, shrugging off his jacket and thrusting it toward Grub. "I'm gonna go find Dad."

"Wait up!" exclaimed Grub, who immediately struggled to free himself from Calandra's grasp. Calandra set him down, and continued her conversation with Bethany and a friend whose husband was in the LEP, and had just been promoted to captain.

Grub ran to catch up with Trouble, who was pushing his way through the crowd to the tent where the newly promoted officers were being lectured by Commander Earlan Pobjoy about one thing or another.

As Trouble and Grub approached the tent, Trouble stopped Grub by putting a hand on his sibling's shoulder.

"What is it?" Grub asked in a whisper (just in case it was a secret).

"D'Arvit," swore Trouble (Grub gave a small gasp at his brother's language). "See that guard there outside the tent?" Grub nodded affirmatively. "We'll never get inside while he's there."

"I guess we'll just have to wait, then," concluded Grub.

"Wait?" said Trouble. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Trouble, you know what Mommy said about not doing stupid things anymore…"

"I know what Mommy said, Grubby-kins. But its not stupid unless you get caught, and that is not going to happen this time. Got it?" Trouble explained.

"Okay…" said Grub, still rather unsure about going along with another one of Trouble's grand schemes. Daddy had been _so_ angry last time…

"Good," said Trouble, cutting off Grub's train of thought. "Now, whatever they're talking about in there has to be pretty important."

"How do you know?"

"If it wasn't important they wouldn't have a guard, stupid."

"Oh, yeah."

"We're gonna sneak around to the back of the tent and listen in."

"That's eavesdropping -- Mommy said we aren't allowed to do that anymore."

"If Mommy really cared all that much she wouldn't have let us wander off, now would she?" said Trouble, perfectly aware that his mother and sister had been paying no attention to them at the time they had left.

"I guess not… Maybe you're right. I mean, what's so bad about eavesdropping anyway? S'long as you don't spread things around."

"Exactly. Let's go." Trouble motioned for Grub to follow him, and led the way toward the tent.

From behind them, a group of teenage boys, along with a few teenage girls, who were most likely their girlfriends, were laughing loudly and obnoxiously and running into people as they passed. As they tore past Trouble and Grub, one of them ran right into Grub, knocking his off his feet and directly into a nearby mud puddle. Grub began to sniffle again, and tears started to well up in his eyes.

Troubles eyes narrowed. Not only had his brother just been shoved into a mud puddle without even an apologetic shrug, but Grub had been wearing Trouble's coat -- and it was _not_ a cheap coat.

"Hey, bastard!" Trouble yelled at the back of the offending boy. The boy turned around, an indignant and enraged expression on his face.

"What did you say?" growled the boy.

"I said, hey bastard! I think you owe my brother an apology."

The boy looked at Grub, who was still sitting in the mud puddle, crying and looking forlorn.

"I don't owe your brother anything if all he's gonna do is sit there and cry about it, like a baby."

Another sob escaped Grub's lips at this latest insult. "Okay," said Trouble. He looked at Grub one last time, then turned and smacked the boy right on the jaw with his clenched fist.

The boy stumbled backward, looking surprised. Trouble leapt on top of him and knocked his over, pummeling his enemy's face and stomach with every ounce of strength he had.

The boy, however, was not completely defenseless, in that he was bigger in build than Trouble, and easily rolled him over and turned the tables in his favor. Trouble took a few well-aimed hits to his jaw and nose (which immediately began to bleed), before once again finding himself on top of the boy, causing as much damage as he could. He was entirely aware of the fact that they were rolling around in the mud and that the suit (the jacket of which he had managed to dispose of somehow during the scuffle) his mother had made him wear was going to be completely ruined.

"And so," continued Commander Earlan Pobjoy, "I want to say congratulations to you, gentlemen, on jobs well-done. I -- what is that terrible racket?"

It _was_ a racket -- in fact, it sounded as though a stampede was passing by the tent. Then a voice: "Hey, bastard!"

Owen Kelp froze. He knew that voice. Some of the noise died down then.

Pobjoy cleared his through and resumed his speech. "I sincerely hope that you will show as much care and caution in your new positions as you did --" Someone outside gave a cry of surprise. "Ahem -- as you did in your old ones. As you have new responsibilities, as well as retaining your old ones, you will also receive a raise in pay, as well as, for the two new majors, a new --"

"Um, excuse me, sir," said a voice from the flap of the tent. "I think you should come out here for a moment, sir." A young guard had poked his head in to the meeting tent, and had now returned to the outside.

"If you'll allow me to, sir, I'll just step out and see what's going on," voiced Major Kelp.

"Very well," said Pobjoy.

"Thank you, sir." Owen stood up and walked to the tent flap. He drew it back, and stepped outside.

"D'Arvit," he cursed, when he saw the scene before him. His son, Trouble Kelp, was in the process of mutilating with his fists some poor boy's face. His younger son, Grub, who was named after Owen's father (who, coincidently, had died on Grub's birthday), was sitting in a mud puddle, weeping hysterically and wearing Trouble's jacket over his father's, which looked ridiculous, since Trouble's was much smaller than the jacket underneath it.

Owen strode forward with quick, determined steps and roughly pulled Trouble away from the other boy by his arm. By this time, the other officers from the tent, including Commander Earlan Pobjoy, had come out to see what was going on.

The other boy was rolling on the ground, spluttering, groaning, and alternating between holding his stomach and his nose. Pobjoy went over to him and began asking his things like, "How is your breathing? Does it hurt when you breathe in? Can you crinkle your nose at all?" The boy continued to moan, apparently taking no notice of Pobjoy whatsoever. Trouble felt himself smirking evilly.

His glee didn't last long, due to his father's icy voice. "Don't you even think about being proud of yourself," he said coldly. "Commander, I request permission to take my son home immediately."

"But Dad --"

"Don't," warned his father, in a low voice.

Trouble closed his mouth and crossed his arms, pulling his left arm out of his father's tight grip with some difficulty.

"That's a good idea, Kelp," stated Pobjoy in a calm and deadly voice.

Owen nodded his head. "Come on, Grub," he said, holding out his hand for his young son to take it. He put his other hand on Trouble's shoulder, and the three of them began to walk away.

Trouble didn't say a word as they made their way toward his mother and sister. Only once in a blue moon did he get to come aboveground, and this time he'd blown it. It was his own fault, really. He just didn't know how to behave. He knew how his parents wanted his to, expected him to, but he just wasn't cut out to be an angel like those other goody-two-shoes children.

Grub was basically silent as well, with the exception of a few whimpers and snuffles. He hated being dirty.

Bethany and Calandra rushed over when they saw Owen and the two boys approaching. Calandra immediately took Grub's hand and hugged him, asking his what had happened and how he had gotten so dirty, while Bethany inspected Trouble.

"Trouble said _two _bad words," Grub whispered to Calandra.

Bethany looked Trouble up and down. His face and clothes were spattered with a mixture of mud and blood. He had a black eye forming on the right side of his face, and his nose looked a little worse for wear. His knuckles were bloody and swollen, obviously from punching someone or something, and his dark hair was glazed with dried mud from rolling around on the ground.

"Trouble…" she sighed exasperatedly. She looked up at Owen, and he nodded. "Come on," she said, to all three of her children. "We're going home. Are you coming, Owen?"

"No, I should go back and apologize for running out on Pobjoy like I did." He looked pointedly at Trouble. "I'll see you guys later." Owen walked off, standing tall and demanding respect in the way he walked.

The four remaining Kelps made their way to a shuttle nearby and paid the pilot to be brought back to Haven City Shuttle Port. From there, they walked home to their two-story residential home, located in the upscale section of Haven. Owen made a lot of money in the LEP, so they could afford to live well.

When they got inside, Bethany went to run some bath water for Grub, leaving Trouble and Calandra alone for a few minutes.

"You should probably take a shower and take care of your face before Dad gets home," Calandra suggested. "You don't want to die looking like that, do you?"

"Thanks for the support, Cal," Trouble responded sarcastically. There was a slight pause, then Trouble said, "Dad's not… really gonna, like, _kill_ me, is he?"

Calandra chuckled. 'No, but I can't guarantee that he won't ground you until you're 200 years old."

"Great."

Calandra suddenly became serious. "You could try a little harder to behave yourself, you know."

"I know, I know. I don't need to be lectured by Mom, Dad, _and _you."

"I'm not lecturing you, Trouble. I'm just giving you some friendly advice, alright? Now go get cleaned up."

Trouble dragged his feet all the way up the stairs, mumbling something like, "Just because you're old doesn't mean you can boss me around."

Calandra sat down on the couch. She _was_ rather old, she mused. After all, she had been born when her mother was only 72 (18), and freshly out of high school. Calandra was 116 (29), and not even married yet. She sighed, wondering if she actually wanted kids at all. She prided herself to have been a normal child, but Grub was rather whiny and freakish about odd things, like he couldn't stand to be dirty, and he never ate anything with his fingers, lest something get underneath his fingernails, and when they bought him and Trouble raid book when Grub was 20 (5), he refused to splash in the puddles because his boots might get stained. So he wore them around the house instead. And Trouble was curious and adventuresome to the point where their mother and father didn't know how to keep track of him once he got too big to be carried everywhere. When he was 16 (4), Calandra had been babysitting him for the day, and he wandered into a bar next to the clothing store Calandra had been shopping in. He had somehow managed to steal a drink from a moody pixie, get the pixie thinking the elf on his left had taken the drink, start a bar fight, and wander out again, completely unscathed and sipping a gin and tonic, for which the pixie had already paid. And a few years ago, when he was 52 (13), he stole their father's LEP Admission Card and ended up raiding the fridge in the Commander's lounge, with the help of a timid corporal, who, thankfully, was not fired, but was sentenced to spend the next forty plus years of his life doing traffic duty.

No, Calandra decided. If her children were going to be anything like her younger siblings, she'd rather not have kids at all.


End file.
